Beyond the Capitol's Games
by enoughfires
Summary: What happens when Katniss discovers a conspiracy the Capitol never intended on anyone knowing of? *This is a post-Mockingjay story. More reviews faster updates **The chapters are currently mislabeled, but the story's in order, don't worry!: Just read it in the order I put it in there, don't pay attention to chapters.
1. Prologue

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 19 years old. I have survived the capitol's Hunger Games twice, and assassinated the president of my own rebellion. I have sacrificed everything about myself in the pursuit for the Republic of Panem. I reside in the victor's village of what remains of district 12. Months later, and there truly are much worse games to play._

__**Prologue**

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers.

My eyes flutter open, and I see him peering over me quietly. He has me in his arms, and it no longer pains me to feel everything I can for him. He's been with me at night a lot lately. Nightmares are no stranger to he and I, and all along we are the only ones to have an understanding of what it is that makes us keel over in tight grips every night, what makes us suffer more than any amount of tracker jacker venom could. Only when something else occupies my mind do the nightmares escape me for just a night.

"No nightmares," he says, a line I heard only on the way to the Capitol for the last Quarter Quell.

"You?" I ask.

"They're not the same ones I used to have about losing you anymore," Peeta replies effortlessly.

My mind distinctly flashes back to two nights ago and how I answered "_real_" when Peeta had inquired about my love for him for the last time. My dandelion in the sun had worried for the last time, had endured the pain of another for the last time. But troubles cannot be taken away, the past never altered.

It's early morning, not too long past dawn. Sleep has evaded me for months now, my body waking me in search for signs of danger-a habit I picked up after my first Games. I am never able to sleep through the night. What little rest Peeta and I get comes I bits and pieces. It didn't take us long to realize that we could possibly never be truly safe again, not even in our own minds. A long sigh given, I get myself out of bed and Peeta volunteers to go down and see if Greasy Sae left anything for breakfast.

I get dressed and prop myself in front of the mirror, taking a long look. You would think after all this time, I would be used to what I see. But I'm not. There's always some part of me that wishes none of it were real. Always some part that has the tiniest bit of hope that none of it was— that it was all tracker jacker-induced hallucinations. That I'm still at home, 16 years old; that Prim was never called at the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. But she was, and I volunteered. Hard to admit, but had it not been for this event, I would never have repaid my debt to the boy with the bread, the boy who did nothing but kept me alive, and more. But Prim is still gone, another life within the many that were cost for my being kept alive. My eyes scale down the scar on my left arm that Johanna Mason had created what seems like ages ago. _And then I see Finnick._

_I see him running behind me. He's far behind. Too far. He's screaming, and shouts for me to help him. I want to turn around, to go after him, but someone's pulling me forward. I am frozen in thought when the muttation rips his head from his shoulders. I have no time to scream, when one of them lands on my back and pushes me to the ground. I can feel its breath on my neck. "KATNISS!" it hisses._ _I shut my eyes as hard as I possibly can, but it's no use._

"NO!" I wail. "Please!"

"Katniss! It's okay, I'm here, it's just me!" I hear what sounds like a mutated human utter.

"_Leave me alone! Get off of me! You already _have _everything you want!" _I can already feel myself losing control of the mutt, wondering why I'm trying to reason with it when it knows no such thing, when it starts to stroke my hair and whisper "Katniss" into my ear.

"Katniss, you're okay. Shh…"

A second later, I realize I am no longer at the scene where my comrades died. I am in my room, cowering on the floor, my hands guarding my head, my body in a locked iron grip. I feel Peeta holding me, his arms wrapped around me in a protective lock, soothing me with his gentle voice.

Whenever this happens there are no tears to be wiped. I'm almost always stunned and unable to move for the moment until someone, usually Peeta, breaks me free of the terror. I begin to remember a slight memory of the arena during the Quarter Quell when Finnick and I were trapped inside the reigns of the jabberjays and we were forced to the ground in order to shield ourselves from the horrifying cries of our loved ones.

Slowly I come to my senses again. Whoever finds me like this usually has to hold me for a while before I'm able to stand up properly. Even Haymitch had to do it once, before I left the Capitol after Coin's assassination. But no one can replace Peeta's gentle touch. After what feels like hours, I get up and go downstairs to get my father's hunting jacket.

Peeta hesitates. "Katni—"

"_I can still hunt_" is all I say, and I stumble out the door.

I break into a fast pace, heading for the once-electric fence. Now, with no Capitol breathing over me, I presume I can go past it as often as I like. Most assume that going hunting and killing animals would bring back too much of the pain that derives from my own memory. But it does just the opposite. Before any of this ever happened, before I ever set foot in the Capitol, hunting was the only place I could feel secure. Despite it being illegal, it was the time that I could be myself more than anywhere or anything else. It was calming to hunt with Gale—_Gale—_every time I think of his name I feel nothing but conflicting emotions. He was there since before any of this began, and he was always there to protect everyone I loved, despite my treatment of him. But he also unintentionally created the trap that blew Prim to pieces, and somehow that disregards everything else. I push these thoughts away. This is my peaceful place, and I will not let anything get in the way of that.

I kick the dirt as I walk, trying not to relive any of the memories that have made me so weak. I retrieve my bow and arrows from the same spot it always was, the same spot it was in when I had gone hunting before the reaping when I volunteered. I walk back and forth, looking for something that might be a good trade. It took months, but the Hub is reconstructed-a piece of District 12 recovered. Fifty yards up, I see something move. I look up, positioned and ready to release an arrow, when the creature starts to sing. _A mockingjay._ I pause for a second before I lower my bow. I haven't seen one in such a long time. After they destroyed District 12, there wasn't much left, even outside district lines. Rue used to sing to mockingjays as a signal of safety in District 11. Rue_. No, stop, don't think about it. _I force myself to keep walking. I look around for around an hour, when I hear it. It's a slight whirring noise, louder than a mosquito, and certainly not human. It's coming from behind me. Instinctively, I turn towards the direction of the victor's village.

It's soft at first, but the whirring starts to get louder, until it's more of a helicopter screech. Then I see it. A hovercraft steadily flies, probably right above my home. But it's not a normal hovercraft, the kind that brings me things I need every now and then. After we took the Capitol, all of the machinery was redesigned and marked with a red stripe that goes all the way across the bodies of most vehicles, representing the blood and sacrifice of the many who freed Panem.

But there was no red stripe on this hovercraft, because this was no recently-made hovercraft. This was the same kind of hovercraft that used to transport Peacekeepers from the Capitol. And nothing that came from the Capitol was ever good. What's it doing over there? No one lives there except Haymitch and—_Haymitch and Peeta._

I break into a run as fast as I possibly can towards the victor's village. _Didn't we get them all?_ I think to myself. There is no way this hovercraft was sent by President Paylor. The trees seem to multiply in front of me, but I keep running. _Are they trying to take Peeta? Haymitch?Me? _No, I would not let them do this again. I'm know I'm getting closer to the fence, so I take out my bow and arrow, out of breath but still jogging. It wouldn't be of much help, I know, but I raise the bow and position it, ready to take down anyone in my way. I make a sharp turn around a tree when _SLAM! _My body collides with Peeta's. He grabs me before I can fall, and holds me for just a second—I can tell he's out of breath—and he pulls me back and looks at me.

"I didn't know if you were-" I start to burst out.

"Katniss, I'm fine. Look, we don't have much time," he says in a hurry. "I don't know who they are, but they're looking for us. They went directly over our homes. In a second, they'll realize we're not there and come here because I think they may have seen me running towards the fence."

"And Haymitch?" I ask, pleadingly.

"I don't know, Katniss, I tried to find him before I came here, but I couldn't."

"Let's go! We can run before they—"

"Katniss, we won't make it. That thing flies 300 miles an hour. Look, I won't let anything happen to you, all right? No one will hurt you as long as I can help it."

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about!" I cry, thinking of everyone I've ever allowed harm to come to in the past.

Peeta has no time to respond before the trees around us start to blow violently from the wind coming from the hovercraft. The same terror I've never grown used to feeling is expressed across my face. I can tell that Peeta, despite the fact that he's still trying to protect me, is experiencing the same thing. Amidst all the chaos, I realize something. What's happening to us now is the same thing Gale and I had witnessed while hunting so long ago when we saw a girl and boy running from the Capitol's hovercraft. A spear was thrown into the boy's body. The girl was taken aboard the hovercraft and deported to the Capitol, where her tongue was cut off and she became a slave. The girl, whose name we discovered to be Lavinia, was an Avox—a traitor to the Capitol.

I have no time to finish my thoughts before the hovercraft is above us and a metal arm is sent down to pull us inside.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Pain. It's the first thing I feel when I start to move my eyes, only I have the tiniest impression of a cool breeze being blown on me, and I realize I'm no longer on the ground. I'm in the hovercraft.

Startled back into reality, I instinctively jerk my body forward, only to find this movement useless, that I've been locked into some sort of metal grip. My eyes are wide open now. I'm lying on what feels like a hospital bed. The pain I feel is coming from the tiny electric currents being sent through my ribs and hands and ankles to prevent me from moving too much. My pulse starts to rise while I take in my surroundings. I'm in a small room on the craft, made entirely of metal and completely empty, giving the cool air more space to take up. The only object in the room is a medium-sized body monitor next to me. They must have put some sleep syrup in me somehow, because I'm a bit drowsy and I feel as if I've just woken from sedation. It takes another moment, but I grasp the fact that I'm probably alone, and I have no idea where I am or where I'm being taken.

"Peeta!" I give a small scream. A hand grabs mine from behind the monitor, and I give a sharp gasp before I turn quickly towards the movement and push the machine out of the way with a tight flick of my wrist.

"Are you all right?" Peeta's grinning at me somewhat, only I can hardly understand why at a time like this. He's in the same exact hospital bed as I am, and he's been placed close enough to me that he can easily hold my hand. He must see my reaction, because he quickly adds, "We've been here for a while. I wasn't sure how long it would take you to wake up again."

I'm confused. "You should have _woken _me!" I retort, "Peeta, for all we know, someone is very mad and very well about to rip our tongues out and slaughter us the way we were meant to—!" I'm interrupted when Peeta grips my hand harder.

"Shh. It's okay. For now, I think we're safe. When I woke up, I think I heard someone talking in the other room. They didn't sound like they were going to hurt us." He's trying to comfort me, only I can tell he's a bit uneasy himself. I don't believe him too much. If Haymitch were here, he'd be strapped to a metal bed, too. But maybe he would help us escape rather than try to calm me down. I've no idea where he is, but I can only hope he's back in District 12, unharmed, not found. I decide not to ask about him, in case he is back home and safe. But this is all beside the obvious question. _Who is doing this? _

I'm feeling a sense of the past. "Look. Peeta, if I don't make-".

"No!" The immediate anger in Peeta's voice is apparent.

"Peeta, _listen _to me. I'm always going to be the main target. I'll always be the first to go," I say in the hopes of him not being stubborn for once.

"_Damn it, Katniss! _I _told_ you nothing was going to hurt you, and I intend on keeping that promise whether you think I will be able to or not!"

I'm flushed and ready to come back with a snide remark when both of us are silenced.

"Perhaps the best thing to do first is release them from their restraints."

A woman, probably in her 30s, steps forward. She tells two husky guards around her to unlock our limbs, but they stand over us after we stand up. She has a larger build than average but this by no means can draw away from the absolutely breathtaking image of her as a whole. Her hair is blonde, and falls a few inches below her shoulders. Her eyes are eerily as light gray as Gale's, with just a touch of green around the centers. But I doubt she is from District 12.

She identifies herself as Enolia Sivlette. According to this woman we have just met seconds ago, there is no harm to come to us. We have no choice but to trust in this declaration, but I keep my doubts to myself. Other than this, we are not to know anything else until we arrive at our destination, which will be "within the next few minutes". From District 12, the ride totals an average of 5 hours. If we are cooperative, she says, all will be explained shortly. Both of us slightly sedated and unarmed, we have no other option but to oblige. Sivlette turns to go back to the front of the craft, and just as the doors close behind her, we feel a large _thump _as the craft lands. Because of the lack of windows, Peeta and I are left blind to the mercy of Enolia Sivlette and her guards. At the same time, the sedatives are mostly wearing off, and I wish they aren't. My pulse is again starting to soar, and I know Peeta's, fueled by protective anger, is, too. The main exit, probably where we came in, opens. We look out curiously, but it's pitch black. Enolia somehow materializes behind us.

"We're here. Welcome to Panem City."

_City? _Peeta and I exchange a nervous glance, and step off the craft into the darkness. All at once, every light turns on to show a brightly lit and massive warehouse. It's bigger than the room we used to do our training prior to the games in. About fifty people are sitting scattered around the place, monitoring the electronics. The room is packed with the most advanced technology I have ever seen, even more advanced than that of the Capitol's hospitals. Small blinking lights give the room even more brightness than the window in the back could. Basically, the whole warehouse is an open building, the window taking up the entire back wall. The warehouse itself is probably 3 stories tall. There are machines everywhere, and while I have no idea what they are for, I have a feeling we weren't invited here for a tour. There's a computer-animated voice that's commanding someone on the machines, and the man is working as best as he can to accommodate it. Sivlette is carefully evaluating our faces, and I can't help but feeling a sense of familiar terror, but I don't know why.

A moment later, the large window in the back becomes a projector screen, and a second after this the faces of 30 people, who neither look young nor old, appear. There's something about them that is tugging on my memory, though I can't pull it from memory. I look at Peeta and he seems to feel the same way.

"Come this way," she breaks the silence. She motions towards a small side door, and we follow. "And, I just wanted to give you a fair warning. Once your heads are back in the game, you probably will not like what you see."

I have many questions, but the looks on the guards' faces tell me that I probably not to ask any at this time. But I can't help but ponder anyways. What is Panem _City_? Is it some sort of extension of the republic we have built? What is this warehouse for? And, more importantly, who were those people we saw on the screen? But what does Sivlette mean by "_once your heads are back in the game….._". And then it hits me harder than Clove's knife being driven into my forehead.

This place is a more advanced version of where we were put before the Hunger Games. The same Hunger Games we worked for so long to eliminate. The faces on the screen are what tributes' faces were displayed on during betting. The people working frantically in the warehouse share the same stature as that of the Gamemakers. And if this is the same place as the Games, then they have taken us here to throw us once again into an arena for a fight to the death, a battle in which I must watch innocent people turn savage and destroy the lives of innocent others.

Only a small whimper escapes my lips before I turn and run as fast as I can, but I only make it a few feet before one of the guards grabs me in a firm grip and slams me against the metal wall of the large hallway we are now in, hard.

Sivlette turns to Peeta, as calm as night. "Control her. Or we will."

The guard releases me, and Peeta doesn't show the slightest hint of intimidation as he steps to me, and takes my face in his hands in a reassuring grip.

"Katniss. Stop. We're okay." He doesn't know what he's talking about. He knows I am not fooled, and adds, "I still intend on keeping my promise." I'm still not convinced. He leans in to hug me, but whispers in my ear. "I don't think this is what we think it is. Don't jump to conclusions yet." He gives me one quick kiss on the lips before the other guards pulls him aside and they start half-guiding, half-dragging us to the door at the end of the hall. I can only hope there is no machine that can monitor my pulse as we are walking. There is not a single reason I can think of to explain why Peeta remains calm. I am desperately seeking a way out, but it's hopeless. We are in an unknown place. Home is apparently 5 hours away. We don't even know why we're here. Right now, I'm feeling the way Prim probably felt as she was taken away from me by Peacekeepers and Gale at her first Reaping. If this _isn't _a repeat of what the Hunger Games were, _what is it? _During the Games and interviews, I had tried my hardest to at least look calm, so Prim would not have to worry for me. There is no one left for me to protect, and the confused terror on my face is evident. This walk is taking longer than it should. The hallway seems to connect to a large room that looks like that of a mental institution—and while we had no such thing in the Districts, I learned about them in school and how people in the past who were thought to be insane were locked in them until they got better. They were usually never released. I freeze in place when I see the room surrounded by barred-doors like those in a prison, only to have the guard roughly push me forward. Peeta doesn't like what he sees, either.

"You promised us no harm. You will _not _imprison us!" He's trying to control himself, but the stress in his voice is not hidden.

Sivlette laughs—not mocking him, but in a way that gives the impression that we really are mistaken. She presses a button on the wall next to the bars, and it opens. It's dim and we can't see much besides two stools inside. Before either of us can react, the guards toss us in like rag dolls before going in as well and the bars slide back against the wall before I can regain my composure. I slam my fists on the bars and begin to scream.

"Stop!" Sivlette yells at me harshly. "Now, I'm going to give you one more chance to calm down. These bars can have an electric charge, and I do not believe you wish for me to activate it."

I absolutely lose it. "You will _not _tell me what to do! What you _will _do is tell us why on earth we are here. We have nothing we can do for you, and you will tell us where on _earth _we are, _NOW._" I struggle to calm down, and she laughs again.

"My dear Miss Everdeen, this is why I have brought you here." Peeta tenses up, and I glare at her and the guards with the same hatred I felt for Snow. "Now, as promised, I will tell you everything you need to know. This room you are in is simply for…control. If you two would have a seat, we will continue." Sivlette and the guards are facing us, back against the bars.

Peeta and I do as told, my glare never receding. Sivlette opens her mouth to begin, when I catch a glance at a figure that appears abruptly outside the prison-like doors. Before I can say anything, the door is opened and everyone in the room is taken by surprise as the shadowed figure jumps inside. It shines a flashlight and before I can even think to respond, a very enraged Glimmer swings a club into my skull as quickly as Prim exploded.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

I am unconscious for a total of 3 days. Subliminally there are hundreds of pictures that flow through my mind. Peaceful images. Peeta painting and drawing into my mother's medicine book. Prim braiding my hair. Finnick offering me a sugar cube. In between each image there are glimpses of different colours that define the moment. All I can think is that I could live like this forever—trapped in a nonexistent reality in which my mind can finally rest.

My body feels drained as I struggle to open my eyes. For a second I feel as if I'm back in the Capitol hospital, after my escape from the Quarter Quell. But I am not strapped in. I am in an open room, free to move as I choose. The lights on the ceiling are too well-lit for my liking. I squint as I try to compose myself. Sitting up, my mind comes back into focus though I can't tell whether the last time I was awake was a dream or not. Glimmer did not hit me. I killed her 2 years ago. She's gone. _Isn't she? _I start to get off the bed I'm on when the door in the corner opens and Sivlette comes in. _Sivlette. Did she bring me here to kill me? To avenge a tribute's death?_ My head hurts, but I instantly remember the fact that Peeta is no longer anywhere near me. I get up in a hurry when I see that Sivlette is sitting patiently on a chair across from me. The look I give her must reveal all because she speaks before I can give my opinion.

"The attack was an accident. The girl is restrained. You might want to sit for the rest of my explanation…the one I was about to give you." I don't trust her. "Your friend is fine. He pushed you out of the way and took the rest of her attack and has been put into care. Just sit."

I sit quietly. She provides for me the following explanation.

Since the very first Hunger Games 77 years ago, there has been a long-kept secret conspiracy within the Capitol and all residents. The Capitol has always had a secret quarters built far away from Panem itself. Every year during the Games, four tributes are chosen to be kept alive by the Gamemakers. While these tributes are in the arena, they inevitably begin to die off. Before each of these tributes' pulses stops, their cannons are fired, to fool Panem into thinking they are out of the Games. A hovercraft then comes and collects their bodies before they actually _do_ bleed to death. Of course, these hovercrafts are normal to viewers because they're supposed to remove bodies from the arena. But in these cases, the four chosen bodies are lifted aboard the crafts and then put into intensive reconstruction, in which they are completely repaired from all the past year's damage, and brought back to life. At first I consider this idea impossible, but I remember how the Capitol had completely fixed Peeta and me after we won and we had no flaws left whatsoever. After "Reconstruction", as Sivlette calls it, the chosen tributes are deported to Panem City, where they believe they are given a second chance to live. Fake, premade bodies are sent back home to their families in the Districts, and the tributes are given a welcoming place to stay and are tricked into believing they are being given a better life. For a year after Reconstruction, these tributes start their lives over. All are aware of their families at home, but choose to stay in the hope that they will do better. They stay in a residence ten times grander than any the Capitol could provide back home. They are tricked into believing the Gamemakers chose them to live because they had the most potential in the Games, and therefore are the most worthy to remain alive.

They've been wrong.

I keep my composure and save any outburst for later, calmly nodding at Sivlette when called for. When the next Hunger Games in our world begins, the Panem City tributes are hit with the news. They will have to compete in a whole new Game. They are taken into custody along with every other tribute from different years—the same way we all were when we were chosen in the Reapings. Perhaps to make it "fair" the Capitol could have repaired the tributes in a way so that they don't age and thus have a chance at winning—I think of Mags and her sacrifice for Peeta's and my life. But then I realize most of them are probably killed off before they can grow even a few years. They go through the entire process of being a tribute in the Hunger Games all over again-minus having the stylists and interviews and whatnot. At this point, if they didn't see it before, there is no escape. Even if they could break past the high-security condition of the City(which is highly unlikely), they have no knowledge of where they are. Even I have no idea where we are, despite having all the information already given to me. Anyways, the tributes that have been chosen have usually been the most vicious in every Games. The intent is to throw them all into an arena where there will only be serious and engaging battle, instead of days spent on killing off the weaker opponents the way it is in our Hunger Games. They cut right to the action. I open my mouth to ask who it is that watches these things, when Sivlette again reads my thoughts before I can say them. The people in the audience are the same people who choose the tributes to be in these Panem City Games. There has long been an unspoken option for the citizens of the Capitol to vote for the tributes who they find to be most "appealing"—or, in Capitol terms, most "showstopping". The citizens are fully aware of where these tributes will go, but I guess they have little consideration of innocent lives. All they want is to see familiar blood being shed a second time. I have never doubted the Capitol's selfish and unfeeling nature, but I would never have imagined they would pick their favorite tributes and allow them to die brutal deaths just for their personal pleasure. Likely they didn't have any guilt because they found it as a 'privilege' to be in the Games again and be selected as favorite.

What makes me so uncomfortable is the fact that, right now, I'm doing a very good job at being indifferent to everything Sivlette has told me. On the surface, I show no reaction to anything I am told. I have grown talented at…can we call this lying? No. Either way, I am deceiving Sivlette into believing I couldn't care less. Maybe it could be because I am so used to the Capitol and humanity and our capability to be repulsing creatures. But inside I know I am truly _disgusted _by everything I know. Still, I can't say I'm insanely surprised. But something is still not quite adding up.

"Well, if they kept only having one winner every year, wouldn't every other Panem City tribute have been killed off long ago?" I ask. The calculations don't allow for there to be Panem City Games for more than a few years, even considering what I think to be 300 innocent lives that have been chosen.

Sivlette looks uneasy. "Miss Everdeen, you have not let me finish. You see…these chosen tributes are not simply brought here and left to die in the arena…" She's looking at me closely. "They each die every year. Over and over."

First confusion hits me in the face. _What is she talking about?_ She gives a sigh of relief to see I have not understood.

"Miss Everdeen. Every year, there is only one victor in the Panem City Games. Most of the Hunger Games' rules apply. The only difference is that…whoever _doesn't _win and is killed in battle is again brought up by hovercraft and then Reconstructed another time. Brought to life another time. The next year, they are to be thrown into the arena again, and fight to the death again. And the victors aren't so lucky, either. They only benefit they have is exemption from the Games for one year. Then they go back, just like everyone else. Each tribute is to die a certain amount of times, but no less than three. Try to stay with me. Every tribute available goes into the arena. Say there are 36 one year. If a tribute is the first to die, he is number 36. 36 places away from being victor. This is the number of times he must be in the Games until, finally, he is not Reconstructed anymore. When someone dies after this tribute, he is 35 places away from being victor, and thus has to die 35 more times."

I keep in mind the fact that there have only been 76 Games, so the number of years it would take for each tribute to die his designated number of times would be infinite and impossible to fill in 76 years. So it's a trap. Unless you have very few deaths to 'live', you are in the Games for a good while.

So the capitol doesn't have to make you immortal. They just need to slaughter you again and again.

Because if you keep dying and being Reconstructed again, it's simply not possible for you to age. Reconstruction fixes any flaws you might have from the past year.

Being slaughtered, it turns out, would have been much better than having lived these tribute's lives a second time. I shudder at the thought that my defiance of the authorities might have created relentless conflict, but it also may have saved me, as well. Any favor from a member of the Capitol's authorities may have brought me to Panem City so everyone could watch me die a second time.


End file.
